


Me. And Me Now.

by sakuracorr



Category: Being Erica
Genre: 15000-25000 words, F/M, Romance, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:20:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuracorr/pseuds/sakuracorr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post season two. Sometimes it's hard to let go, especially when you have the ability to really find the answers to your "What ifs?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Me. And Me Now.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idea_of_sarcasm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idea_of_sarcasm/gifts).



                “Erica, talk to me.” Dr. Fred’s voice is admonishing, even though he’s smiling at her.

 

                She’s leaning back in one of his chairs, letting her eyes drift closed. “I wrote some on my book today.” She opens her eyes so that she can see him. “It’s been a bit hard to concentrate lately.”

 

                It’s one of those days where he doesn’t stay behind his desk, and today is one of the days she really appreciates that. “Tell me, do you still think it’s not a regret?”

 

                “Is there any particular reason we’re doing this today? You know I’m really tired, and--”

 

                “Erica, answer my question.” His voice is laced with laughter and a fondness she’s picked up on for awhile now.

 

                Just thinking about the answer brings up a surge of thoughts she doesn’t have any particular wish to mess with. “I know what I’m supposed to say.” She closes her eyes for a brief moment and runs her fingers through her hair. “I still don’t know how I feel about it. Or how I should feel about it even.” There’s the pressure in her chest and behind her eyes. Her legs are crossed, and her foot makes agitated sweeps through the air. She gives him a smile. “You know, it’d be so much easier if you just sent me somewhere.”

 

                “If you want easier, I could refer you to someone else.” He hands her a glass of water. “Take a drink, take a breath, and then just tell me, straight out. No messing around today, Erica.”

 

                She laughs as she takes a drink of water. “Straight out makes it sound like I know the answer.”

 

                “That’s because you do. So come out with it.”

 

                She puts the glass down and allows her head to fall back again. “Fine,” she says, looking over so that he can see her face when she says it. “I don’t regret it.”

 

                “But you wish you did?”

 

                The chair is suddenly a vulnerable spot to be, but she nods anyways. “Sometimes, yeah…” She finds herself looking up at the sky, unable to stop the nostalgia and frustration and sadness from slipping into her voice. She has to close her eyes and take a deep breath. “Sometimes I wish I did.”

 

 

I.****

 

 

                Erica isn’t sure what to expect as she walks through the door, but what she sees is nothing she could have ever imagined.

 

                Dr. Naadiah is standing in the middle of the room. The room itself is old, and it makes her think of something out of a Jane Austen novel. It looks like the perfect place to write, a real room of one’s own. “Do you know what this is for, Erica?” she asks.

 

                Erica turns, taking in the green, faded furniture, and the novels on the shelves. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

 

                “When I was younger,” Dr. Naadiah begins. “I wasn’t too different from you. We all start out like that… lost, unsure of what direction to take or why we’re even here.”

 

                Realization floods through Erica. “This is my office.”

 

                Dr. Naadiah smiles. “Yes, this is the room that’s going to be your office. When you’re ready.”

 

                She touches the old desk, smiles at how much she likes it. “When?” There are other questions, but this is the one she asks. She feels ready, even as she feels terrified.

 

                “When you’re done with your therapy,” Dr. Naadiah answers. “But I have a feeling it will be soon.”

 

                “Why isn’t Dr. Tom showing me this?” She can’t imagine being like him, capable of changing someone’s life like he’s changed hers. It only feels right he be part of this too.

 

                “Dr. Tom will be here when he can.” Dr. Naadiah gives Erica a slight smile.

 

                “So what happens now?”

 

                “You were ready to learn the truth about the future, Erica, but there’s a lot to be done. Now it’s time to go home and wait. I’ll be in touch with you shortly.”

 

                “What about Dr. Tom?” Erica asks. “You said I’ll see him again.”

 

                There’s something sad about the way Dr. Naadiah looks at her and nods. “I promise, you’ll see him again.”

 

\---

 

                Now that Ethan’s left, the apartment feels empty. No amount of turning on the television or reading novels or bringing work home seems to change that. Kai is back where he belongs in the future. Not that she isn’t happy for him, that he’s finally figuring things out.

 

                The thing is, it leaves her alone. She tries not to think about it. She focuses on her work.

 

                Starting a business is more hectic than she had realized. It includes financing and dressing up to make presentations to backers, and when her self-confidence starts to waver, she thinks about Dr. Tom. She hasn’t seen him for two weeks. That sense of loss gets swept along with trying to find more authors to trust her with their manuscripts, her own book that is really a blank word processor document that’s more a promise to herself than a book, and the plans for publishing the book they do have.

 

                When she takes the time to eat Chinese food out of a carton in front of her computer, she starts getting used to the idea of being alone. After another few weeks a glass or two of wine follows whatever take-out she’s gotten that day.

 

                Her spot of solidarity is yoga with Julianne every morning, and she takes a deep breaths and tries to imagine she can hold this loss lightly.

 

                 Then one morning, she’s sweaty and going through the door to change, and she finds herself surrounded by the familiar books and statues, the traditional desk, and the chair she’s known all too well. “Hello, Erica.”

 

                She goes ahead and wipes the sweat off her skin with the towel she’s holding. “I was starting to think I wouldn’t see you again.”

 

                He gives her a smile. “You’ve graduated from our regular therapy.” He turns to look at her, and it makes something in her stomach feel heavy. “It’s not my place to make a lot of choices about you anymore. You had to know it was going to end sometime, that you couldn’t be in therapy forever.”

 

                “Not forever, but…” she points to the list accusingly. “I still have regrets. There’s still work to do.”

 

                “Erica.” His voice, and the way he looks at her, is fond. “You know you’re ready to move past this.”

 

                Her throat is tight. “I’m not ready.” What she means is she’s not ready to move past him. She’s lost Ethan, and she’s lost Kai. But losing Dr. Tom, too?

 

                “Everything will be for the best. You’ll see.” He’s still not looking at her.

 

                “What? No quote for this one?” she asks. “You could at least look at me.”

 

                “We only part to meet again. John Gay.” He does look at her. “I’m going to be here when you need me, but the point is you don’t need me anymore.”

 

                “But I still need you.”

 

                “No, you don’t.”

 

\---

 

                The meeting with one of the banks goes well, but while Julianne is excited, Erica finds she can only manage the briefest of smiles.

 

                “Come on now, what is that?” Julianne asks. “You’re not having second thoughts about this again, are you? Or is it Ethan?”

 

                “It’s really not Ethan,” Erica says. “Well maybe a little, but… I’m just dealing with a lot right now.”

 

                “I don’t have to tell you that this is going to take a lot of hard work. Are you sure you feel up to it? Because we can change our minds right now, but there’s going to come a point where if you’re in, you’re going to have to be really in this with me, Erica. So are you in this with me or not?”

 

                “I’m in this with you,” she says. “I promise I’m in this with you.”

 

                “Good.” Julianne smiles. “You know if you don’t want to spend your evenings alone, I do have _Sleepless in Seattle_ on DVD.”

 

                “Thanks, but I think I’m doing all right.” Once Julianne and her come to the place where they part ways, Erica is half tempted to take her up on the offer. At the last minute she decides just to go home.

 

                She just ends up working in front of the television, Chinese food on her lap, some old black and white movie on the screen. She turns it off, goes to bed, and turns on her lamp. She reads exactly ten words before she realizes she doesn’t have the concentration for it.

 

                Instead she takes a long bath, feeling the warmth soak into her muscles, but it never manages to go farther than that. Somewhere deep down, she just feels numb.

 

                It’s been another two weeks since she’s seen Dr. Tom, a little over four weeks since she last saw Ethan or Kai, and the apartment feels big. The work just seems like something to do. The heart she once had for it is something she makes an effort to remind herself of in hopes that maybe one day she’ll have it again.

 

                After her bath she turns the television back on and watches it until she’s tired enough that all she can do to turn it off and drag herself to bed.

 

\---

 

                Erica is sitting in front of Dr. Naadiah. “It scares you, the thought of not having therapy with Dr. Tom anymore.” It’s not a question.

 

                When Erica doesn’t answer, Dr. Naadiah continues. “Did you know Tom was my patient, a long time ago?”

 

                “Do you still see each other?” She knows they saw each other for sure, but only that once.

 

                “When he needs me, yes, I step in and help him. It’s mostly been to help him with you. None of us are born knowing how to do good therapy, Erica, and certainly none of us are perfect.” Dr. Naadiah leans forward. “Isn’t that enough for you? To know you’ll see him when you need him?”

 

                She takes a deep breath. She’s trying her best not to break down crying, “I feel like I’m losing my best friend,” she says, because it’s honest. Because it’s all she’s got. Because she’s lost Ethan. “All of this is starting to not seem quite worth it.”

 

                “And what is all of this? Therapy? The decisions you’ve made?” She looks at Erica. “Give me something more concrete.”

 

                “I mean, I don’t regret ending it with Ethan, but…” Erica tries hard to put words to it. “I just don’t feel this capable. Not yet. All I want to do is forget, and I know that’s not the right thing. It’s just all too fast and too much.” Erica closes her eyes, tries to steady herself. “I know there’s a difference between me now, and me before therapy, but I’m less and less sure of what that is, exactly.”

 

                “Is it a regret?” Dr. Naadiah asks.

 

                “I don’t regret who I’ve become,” Erica says. “I don’t regret changing.”

 

                “What do you regret?”

 

                This answer’s easy. “Losing everyone. Losing Kai, losing Ethan,” she makes a wave with her hand. “Now I’m losing Dr. Tom. You know, my work is important, and I love it, I really do. And I love my family, though they can drive me nuts. But it’s not the same.”

 

                Dr. Naadiah takes a moment before she answers. “You seem to be afraid of really ending therapy, Erica. Do you mind telling me why you think that is?”

 

                “I know I’m supposed to want to be self-sufficient, and I don’t mean that I don’t want to have room to be myself, but sometimes… sometimes yeah, I think I’d give it all up just to be happy. To keep the people in my life, you know, and I hate to say it, but Dr. Tom, he made me feel less alone. Even when I was with Ethan. And if I had to give up everything I’ve gained in my life-- which right now feels like some long-shot business venture and, sure, courage and strength of character and self-confidence-- to be able to keep him in my life, maybe I would. I mean lots of people are happy like that. And those things, they’re all things I could find again, but you can’t replace the people who matter.” She thinks about Leo, despite herself.

 

                Dr. Naadiah regards Erica. “So if that were the choice, giving up the therapy and all the progress to keep Dr. Tom, is that the choice you’d make?”

 

                “Considering I’d still know him in some way?” She nods. “Right now, yeah, I’d do it.”

 

                “That’s a big statement to make.” Dr. Naadiah lets out her own sigh. “Let’s say I could send you back, would you be willing to say that therapy was a regret? In light of losing Dr. Tom? And I want you to really think about what you’re saying before you answer me.”

 

                “In light of everything…” The words are big enough she has trouble getting them out of her throat, so she does so slowly, weighing each one. “Yes, therapy’s a regret.”

 

                “So this is really the choice you’re making?” Dr. Naadiah asks a final time.

 

                “It is,” Erica says, and before the words are out of her mouth, she finds herself in a hospital bed, the taste of hazelnut mocha mint latte in her mouth.

 

**\---**

 

                He walks through the door, “Erica Strange.” The déjà vu is enough to make her head spin. Or it could be the lingering effect of the allergic reaction.

 

                “Dr. Tom,” she says with a smile, and it throws him off.

 

                He frowns. “How did you know who I was?”

 

                “I’m your patient… or I was your patient, I’m a little unclear on that now, but this is a regret. I’m here on a regret.” She feels suddenly unsure of herself as he takes a seat.

 

                “I see. That makes my job a little more difficult, because I’m here to offer you therapy you’ve apparently already had.” He settles back into the chair. “Tell me about this regret, Erica.”

 

                “It was you, mostly at least.” She’s aware her hair looks like a mess, he doesn’t really know her, and she must look crazy as she’s telling him this. “Maybe it was just that being more self-actualized wasn’t as great as it was cracked up to be.”

 

                “So you regret the therapy?” he asked, studying her closely.

 

                “I regret losing you,” she says. “I regret feeling lost, and you just leaving me with that.”

 

                He nods for a moment but doesn’t say anything. His expression shifts into one of understanding. “Dr. Naadiah sent you here, didn’t she?”

 

                It’s Erica’s turn to frown. “Yeah, why?”

 

                He sighs. “Because if you were my patient, I wouldn’t be the one to address your transference issues like this. I don’t believe in the method very much.”

 

                She tries to sit up, feels her head spin just a little. “What are transference issues?”

 

                He thinks for a minute before he puts it to words. “By design, therapy creates an intimate relationship. You tell me all of those deep, dark things you don’t tell other people, and in return, I give you the positive regard to work through them. Sometimes-- it could be for several reasons, father issues or intimacy issues in general-- the therapist becomes… how do I put this elegantly? The grand solution to the problem. If he, or she, loves you and supports you unconditionally in the therapy room, why wouldn’t that extend into the rest of your life? And who wouldn’t want to keep that regard, permanently, and have it continues to protect you from the harsh corners of reality?”

 

                The first thing out of her mouth is, “I don’t have father issues.” She takes a breath. “And I didn’t expect you to protect me. In fact, sometimes you kind of suck at it.” That makes him chuckle, which makes her feel like he’s not even taking her seriously. “What we had was more than that. It was a friendship that had nothing to do with you fixing my life. It mattered.”

 

                “Do you really think you’ll get what you need by giving away all your progress to hope that, what Erica, we’d be friends? Even if that were possible, do you think that would be a wise decision?”

 

                “I don’t know.” She sighs. “I know you don’t approve of this, but I need some sort of closure. At the very least, if I’m going to let you go, I need to know how, because right now, I don’t know how to do it.”

 

                “And how do I give you that closure, Erica?”

 

                “I don’t know.” It takes her a moment, but when the idea hits her, she sits up, almost ripping her IV out. “Show me what we would have been like, if you weren’t the therapist and I wasn’t your patient. Prove to me that everything that I’m feeling about losing you is just transference, like you say.”

 

                His misgivings are all over his face. He sighs and leans back. “If you remember the therapy, Erica, then it doesn’t really prove anything, and if not, I wouldn’t have any memories of you, so basically, we’d just be two strangers. Do you really think that would prove anything?”

 

                “I need to sort this out. Isn’t there any way we can work through this regret?” Tears are starting to fill her eyes. “Because right now… this isn’t what I want. At least not without you. At least not without something changing.”

 

                The look on his face is sympathy, not a trace of pity, just sympathy, pure and simple. “Have I, in the future, ever given you any reason to think that this was more than a therapeutic relationship? Did I say anything? Did I touch you?”

 

                “No!” She settles down. “You meant like on the shoulder, didn’t you?”

 

                “Well, I meant your hair or your back or something, but it’s good to know I’ve never seriously harassed you.” He clasps his hands. “So tell me, Erica, did I ever give you the impression that I… had any type of personal feelings for you, friendship or otherwise?”

 

                She shakes her head. “I don’t think you being a good friend had anything to do with you having inappropriate feelings towards me.”

 

                “Good,” he says, nodding. “That’s a good place to start.”

 

                “So what do we do now?” she asks.

 

                “Give me some time to think about this. In the meantime, get yourself out of the hospital.”

 

                She smiles. “Will do.”

 

\---

 

                 He finds her. She’s sitting on a park bench, remembering why this period of her life sucked so badly. Being unemployed leaves her too much time with her thoughts. She’s lost in them when he sits down next to her. “I have a proposition.”

 

                “Will it make me stop feeling like this?” she asks, eyes not focusing on anything in particular. “Like this huge part of my life is just… missing?”

 

                “It might give you closure, but nothing’s guaranteed.” He offers her a paper cup of coffee, and she takes a drink. It’s comforting in the icy November weather.

 

                “I’ll do it.” There’s no decision to make. She feels rather apathetic about everything at this point. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

 

                “You won’t remember the therapy, but you won’t end up with this life either. You’ll be more or less who you are now, minus a few memories, and I’ll be there, but I’ll never have been your therapist.” He looks over at her. “This is very unorthodox, and I want you to take this seriously and accept the answers you get without question. Once this is over, it’s over, and the repercussions… well, those are going to be yours to deal with.”

 

                She nods. “All right.”

 

                He looks like he still has misgivings. “I don’t know you, Erica Strange, and I’m not sure if I really want to.” He leans his head back. “All I can gather from this situation is that you’ve probably made my life in the future very complicated.”

 

                “I guess I can’t seem to avoid complications,” she says with a smile. “They want me to be a therapist, you know.”

 

                “I know.” He stands up. “Good luck with that.” He walks a few paces and turns, his hands in his pockets. “And take care, Erica.”

 

                “I will,” she promises.

 

\---

 

                “You’re holding her back.” Dr. Naadiah is sitting in his office, which is an odd change for him. “That’s why I had to do it, Tom. We’re already doing damage control.”

 

                “Is that what you’re calling this?” he asks. “Damage control?” He’s looking out the window. It’s rainy. That suits him.

 

                “I’m saying maybe it’s time for you to deal with your end of this,” she tells him.

 

                “She’s not my first patient,” he says. There’s a quiet anger in his voice. “So you can stop treating me like I don’t know what’s going on.”

 

                “Then do the session I’m suggesting. I’ll be there to work through it with you.” She pauses. “You need to figure out exactly what this is for you. It’s not just about Erica.”

 

                “You seem to be implying something I’m not sure you should be implying.” They stare each other down. They’ve done this many times before.

 

                “The rules are there for a reason, but that doesn’t mean there can’t be exceptions, Tom. I’ve known you for a long time. I’ve seen the way you look at her.” She holds her gaze steady. “You need to figure out what this is. She isn’t in a position to work through this yet, and to be frank, you’re failing her. We can only take her so far. She needs you for this.”

 

                “I’ve dealt with feelings like this before, from past clients,” he says. His hand runs through his hair. “She’s not the first.”

 

                “She might be the first time _you’ve_ had to seriously deal with it. You’re not perfect, Tom. And Erica isn’t every other client. You know they aren’t all the same.”

 

                “Yes, I do.” He’s still looking out the window. “They are each their own person.”

 

                “But she’s the one that made you doubt yourself.”

 

                “Yes.” He remembers that hold on her arm, the anger. She’s the only one he’s told about Sarah.

 

                “Is she a regret?”

 

                “No,” and it’s honest, as honest as he knows. “Never.”

 

                “Do the session, Tom. I’m not going to force you into it, not this time.” She’s standing now. Her hand is on his shoulder.

 

                “Did I encourage her too much?” he asks, his voice quiet, subdued now.

 

                It makes her smile, laugh quietly to herself. “You refuse to acknowledge the possibility that maybe these things just happen.” She shrugs. “If it helps, this session was your idea.”

 

                That does pique his interest. “What do you mean?”

 

                “I sent her back. I was hoping I could convince her that there was no way to change the way things were, that without the therapy, her relationship with you wouldn’t be the same. That whether she gave up her current life or not, she was going to have to let you go.”

 

                “And?” For a moment there’s a leap of hope, but he’s too logical. If this were good news, Dr. Naadiah would have a different look on her face.

 

                “He, well you, suggested that she couldn’t deal with her transference without you. He thought you could handle it, and if you couldn’t then it would be a good idea for you as well.” He hates how piercing her blue eyes can be. “Frankly, I agree with him.”

 

                “You want us to do a joint session?” he asks. “Together?” His hand is balled into a fist. He closes his eyes, not even sure who he’s angry at.

 

                “You can convince her it was the therapy,” she says.

 

                “And what if it’s not?” The question is asked delicately. He’s not sure he even wants to put the words out there.

 

                “Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

 

                They stare at each other, both still, but beneath her stillness is a steady calm, and beneath his is a tightly held agitation.

 

                “Give me time to think about it,” he says finally.

 

                She just nods. “All right.”

 

\---

 

                It’s only one day before he’s standing in front of her desk. “I’ll do it.”

 

                “This might change a lot of things,” she warns. “There’s a good chance this might set you both back.”

 

                “But you said this was holding her back.”

 

                “It is.” Dr. Naadiah looks at him. “I’m just worried about you. As much as I know you need to do this.”

 

                He catches the sentimentality in her voice. This is the caring and concern that’s supposed to exist. “Where did I go wrong with Erica?” he asks. “I didn’t have a problem ending therapy with you.”

 

                She shrugs. “Some people have more trouble letting go. Maybe Erica’s one of them.”

 

                “She was ready.” He says it with such conviction.

 

                “Tom,” she says it as kindly as possible. “This is why you need to figure it out.” She stands up and puts her hands on his shoulders. “You care about her, and I’m not going to say how, but I know you’re strong enough to do this.”

 

                He just nods. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.”

 

                She just pats his shoulder. “Good luck.” And he knows how sincerely she means it, and that helps. And it suddenly makes the need for this very clear.

 

 

II.

 

 

                They are at the party after a book signing, her, Julianne, and Tom. She holds her wine glass up to him. “So are you proud of me?”

 

                “Immensely,” he promises her, and they smile at each other before they take a drink.

 

                She feels so glad to be here. “That dress is gorgeous,” Julianne says from next to her. “Red really suits you.”

 

                There are so many important publishers here, so many important authors and financial backers. Erica can’t help but ignore it all to enjoy the comfort of the little circle of two people around her.

 

                “You know you look good, Julianne, so you don’t have to compliment me to get me to tell you so.” This makes Julianne smile.

 

                Tom leans down enough to whisper in her ear, “For what it’s worth, you do look great in that dress.” It makes her cheeks heat up, and she’s not quite sure how to feel about it coming from him, so she doesn’t reply.

 

                Besides, she’s done the _becoming more than friends thing_ with Ethan, and look how that turned out.

 

                She has to leave them anyhow when her newest author wants a word. “I’ll be back,” she promises. “Are we still riding home together?” she asks them.

 

                “The champagne’s waiting in the limo,” Julianne answers, brandishing her wine glass as a promise of more alcohol to come.

 

                Erica takes a moment to relish the knowledge she has everything she ever could want.

 

\---

 

                Their first meeting is coincidence. She’s a newly fired mess, and she’d found enough change in her pocket to buy a coffee. Mug in hand, she makes her way to sit close to him, her eyes never leaving the newspaper in his hands.  “Do you mind if I have the classifieds?” she asks him, trying not to sound meek but sounding so all of the same.

 

                He turns to look at her, and she’s intimidated by how put together he looks. After a glance at her, he separates a section of the paper and hands it to her. “I hope it helps,” he says.

 

                “Me too,” she echoes, already digging her pen out of her bag, what she’s not willing to settle for being calculated in her head. “Thanks, by the way,” she tells him upon finding the pen. She gives him a smile as she smoothes out the newspaper in front of her.

 

                “No problem,” he tells her, but she notices he’s watching her more now. “Looking for a job, I take it?”

 

                “Yeah. You know there’s really something soul-sucking about the whole process.” This makes him laugh, which makes her smile more. She decides to hold out her hand. “Erica Strange, by the way.”

 

                He takes her hand, looking amused by the whole thing. “You can call me Tom.”

 

                “Tom no last name?” she asks. “Like Cher?”

 

                “Last names are such trivial things to bother with,” he tells her.

 

                “Sure, okay.” She spots some secretary job she might be able to cobble together enough experience for.

 

                “So what kind of job are you trying to find?” he asks. He’s set down the paper now, and he’s given her his full attention.

 

                “The kind that pays?” she ventures. “I wanted to be an editor, got the degree, but… that just hasn’t worked out.”

 

                “Maybe it’s because you keep settling,” he says, off-handedly, as he picks up his paper again. “There is no passion to be found playing small - in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living. Nelson Mandela.”

 

                She glares at the side of his head. “You don’t know anything about me,” she says, taking her crumpled classified section and getting up from the table. Then she realizes she hasn’t finished her coffee, and she can’t take the mug with her. She sits back down in the chair.

 

                “You said you were interested in publishing?” He asks, this time not looking up from his paper.

 

                “Editing, but yes, that’s pretty much what I said.”

 

                He points to an entry in the classifieds. “Then I’d try that one first.” With that he folds up his paper neatly, leaves a tip by his empty coffee mug and walks out the door. That’s the moment she decides she kind of hates him.

 

                She circles the ad reluctantly anyway. On the phone later she’ll tell Judith that it’s non-fiction and not what she cares about, and Judith will say, “But it’s still publishing, Erica.”

 

                And Judith will be right, but that will make Tom right, and though it won’t matter to him, Erica wants to ignore his advice out of spite.

 

\---

 

                The limo drops Julianne off at home first, because she lives the closest. Erica admits she’s had just a bit too much champagne, but she pours herself more anyhow, offers more to him. He tips his glass so she can refill it.

 

                “I owe so much of this to you,” she tells him. “If I hadn’t followed that ad, I wouldn’t have met Julianne. If you hadn’t supported me, I would never have had the courage to do this. And I’d still be moping over Ethan.” She takes a drink, enjoying the dry taste on her tongue. Her head feels just a bit heavy, so she rests it on his shoulder. He’s taken his suit jacket off, laid it beside him in the seat, so her cheek meets the soft feel of cotton. She smiles into his shoulder. “How can I ever say thank you?”

 

                “You did it all,” he tells her, and he pulls a piece of hair that’s threatening to fall into her mouth away from her face. “You just needed someone to help you realize you could do it.”

 

                She lifts her head to smile at him. “So how different am I from that crazy girl in the coffee shop? I mean I’m successful. I look more put together. I don’t act so crazy… well, I act crazy less often.”

 

                He puts his hand on his cheek. “Not so very different.” There’s something about the look in his eyes that she can’t turn her eyes away from. “I’m glad you’ve managed to stay uniquely you.”

 

                She doesn’t know what this means, ‘uniquely her’. She laughs. “You mean how I’m a klutz and I still get overemotional and sometimes I still don’t know what I’m doing?”

 

                He smiles, a smile she can’t interpret. “Perhaps that’s exactly what I mean.”

 

                His tone makes Erica sit up. This time she’s the one to put her hand on his cheek, and she looks at him very intently. He reaches up to grab her wrist. “Erica…”

 

                Whatever moment they were having is passing, or maybe she just wants to let it go. Erica lets herself fall back against the seat, lets the exhaustion of the night replace whatever she might be feeling.

 

                Even with her eyes half-closed, though, she notices that he watches her for the rest of the way home.

 

\---

 

                She shows up at his door, her makeup smeared, with a bottle of wine in her hand. “Do you mind if I’m here tonight?” she asks.

 

                Tom steps aside, lets her into his apartment. The first thing Erica thinks is that she doesn’t belong there. It is so put together, everything tidy and where it is supposed to be. She swings around to face him, almost losing balance as one of her heels slips to the side. “I broke up with Ethan.”

 

                He shuts the door, quietly comes to take the wine bottle from her. Then he just wraps his arms around her, and Erica finds herself suddenly sobbing into the wool blend of his sweater as he rubs her back.

 

                “I’m getting makeup on your shirt,” she says with a weak laugh.

 

                “It’s just fabric,” he tells her. When she calms down, he leads her to the couch, puts the bottle of wine on the coffee table.

 

                “He was supposed to be the one, you know,” she says, accepting the Kleenex he offers. She wipes her eyes. “He was my best friend. I loved him.” When she looks up, he’s watching her, listening attentively. “But, he was stifling me, Tom. I felt, I felt like he had this picture of who I was, and he wasn’t going to let me be anything else.” There’s a long pause, and Erica says, “There’s not really much to say to that, is there?”

 

                “Not really, no.” For a minute Erica just sits there, still trying to take everything. It all seems to have happened so fast. “What do you feel like doing tonight?” he asks, and it’s clear they could talk more, if she wanted to.

 

                “I don’t know… could we watch a movie or something?” She laughs. “It can be one of those depressing historical documentaries you’re so fond of. Anything without romance.”

 

                This just makes him smile. “I just bought one the other day. I’ll go put it on. Do you need food to go with that?” he motions his head towards the wine, which has obviously already been opened.

 

                “Yeah, I probably should.”

 

                They put the movie on, and Erica snacks on the wheat crackers that he finds for her in the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything when she nestles into his side the whole time, glad just to have the human contact.

 

\---

 

                He has her wrist, but she stares him down. “You can’t tell me who I can and can’t date.”

 

                “So what, Erica? I’m supposed to support you while you go throw your life, everything I’ve watched you work for, on some punk kid who works at a coffee shop?” His fingers are tightening, and it’s actually hurting her.

 

                “You always think you know what’s best for me. Maybe it’s time you let me make my own decisions.” She rips her hand away from him and rubs her wrist. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

 

                They stare each other down, and she’s breathing hard and trying to count to ten. “You scare me when you’re like this,” she tells him.

 

                It subdues him. He takes a step back from her. “Do what you want, Erica. Just don’t expect me to care.”

 

                “I don’t get why you cared in the first place,” she yells, because he’s more than a step away from her now. “And it’s not caring when you never let me in! It’s just you trying to fix me. I don’t need to be fixed, certainly not by you.”

 

                “So that’s why you were doing so well before you met me?” he asks.

 

                 “You know what? Giving me advice doesn’t mean you did everything for me.” She grabs her coat from the closet, slipping her arms into it. “And it’s not like you look too put together right now.” She finds her purse on the floor, but she stops after she gets the door open to say, “I would never do that to Ethan.”

 

                “So wanting to be with someone else is okay just because you’re physically faithful?” he asks, in that tone where he’s being quiet because he knows he’s right but he’s also saying something he doesn’t really want to tell her.

 

                Erica really hates him right now.

 

\---

 

                She’s working on her book when the doorbell rings. He’s disheveled and smells just slightly like scotch. He motions towards her living room. “Can I come in?”

 

                “Sure.” She steps out of the way, shuts the door behind him.

 

                “You once told me that it wasn’t caring if I never let you in,” he starts.

 

                She puts a finger to her mouth. “I was angry when I said that, all right? You don’t owe me anything.”

 

                “What if you’ve made my life better?” he asks. “In the limo- it seems like weeks ago now- you told me all of the things I’d done for you, but what if you’re the one who’s fixing me?”

 

                 “Let me get you a glass of water.” She goes to the kitchen, closes her eyes and tries not to think too much as she fills the glass from the tap. When she hands it to him, he’s still standing there in the middle of her living room, looking lost.

 

                He won’t let her guide him anywhere. “Talk to me, Tom. Tell me what’s going on.”

 

                “I’ve never told you what I do for a living,” he says. His eyes focus on her window. “I’m a therapist. I help people with their problems, or at least I’m supposed to.”

 

                “I always thought you were in business,” she confesses, and he gives her this surprised look.

 

                He shakes his head. “I was. It was a long time ago.”

 

                “Okay, so you’re a therapist.” She encourages him to take a drink of water. When he finally does, she continues. “Did something happen today? With one of your patients I mean?”

 

                “Sort of.” He looks at her, hands hanging at his sides, and there’s something so sober about his stance. “Erica, why are we friends?”

 

                The question is easy for her. “What do you mean, why are we friends? You’re always there for me. You listen, even when I’m saying something completely random or idiotic. You give good advice.”

 

                “I lose my temper, and I always follow the rules, and I have a very dry sense of humor.” He meets her eyes. “So what do I add to your life? Besides someone who is there to listen? Is that what I am? Your fill-in therapist?”

 

                “You’re my friend. And if this is the line of thought we’re going to follow, what do I bring to your life?” She laughs. “I’m a high-maintenance mess, and I’ve showed up at your door more times than I can count.”

 

                “And would it be out of line to say that sometimes you’re my biggest motivation to get out of bed in the morning?” he asks her.

 

                She shakes her head, because the Tom she knows doesn’t have problems getting out of bed. “What do you have to be depressed about? You have everything so put together.”

 

                “Am I that closed off?” he asks her. “That you can’t see how flawed I am?”

 

                “Then we’re both flawed. What does it matter?” She closes her eyes, puts a hand over them. Her head is spinning. “I’m not sure exactly how I could be anyone’s motivation.”

 

                “It’s because you don’t see your own enthusiasm. How you make the simplest things light up just by caring about them. How you just,” he makes a sweeping motion with his hand. “Brush aside the rules when they don’t suit you.”

 

                “That gets me in a lot of trouble.” She lets her own hands fall to her sides. “Why is this coming up?”

 

                “Because I want you to know me, Erica. It’s been so easy to be closed off, especially after… I want to really care. I want to be your friend. I don’t want to feel like your therapist anymore.” He’s looking at her so sincerely, Erica feels something tight in her throat.

 

                “You sit down, I’m going to fix supper, and then we’re going to talk,” she tells him, trying her best to sound firm as she makes her way to the kitchen. She’s relieved to see him start towards a chair. “And Tom, you’re the best friend I have right now. Nothing you do or don’t tell me changes that.”

 

                She says this, but her mind is so preoccupied it takes her a minute to remember she was looking for the pasta in the cabinet she has open.

 

\---

 

                Erica’s happy to see him sitting at the coffee shop again, though she had given up after three weeks of not seeing him there.

 

                She sits across from him. “So I guess I have to say thank you.”

 

                He looks amused more than anything. “I take it you got the job,” he says just before taking a drink of coffee.

 

                “I’m officially an editorial assistant,” she says, unable to stop herself from grinning like an idiot. “So… Tom with no last name, I was thinking there’s no one more appropriate to celebrate my newfound success than with you.”

 

                 He raises an eyebrow at her, and then takes another careful drink of coffee. “I’m not interested in dating someone who was probably still in diapers when I wrecked my first car.”

 

                She rolls her eyes. “I’m glad you think that much of yourself, but I meant celebrating… as friends? No, newly formed acquaintances. Can you handle that?”

 

                He looks at her. “You do intrigue me, Erica Strange.” He thinks for a moment, then nods. “Sure. Let’s celebrate as newly formed acquaintances. Where were you thinking?”

 

                “There’s a decent bar two blocks from here. We could meet at six?” She’s already writing the directions.

 

                “How could I say no?” he asks, taking the piece of paper.

 

\---

 

                She hands him a glass of water and two aspirins. “Did I sleep on your couch?” he asks.

 

                “Yeah, I kind of didn’t feel like waking you up. You were pretty out of it, and I wasn’t going to drive you home at two in the morning.” It’s meant as a joke, but neither of them really laughs. “Thank you, for telling me,” Erica tells him. “I can tell what it means for you to have talked about it.”

 

                “I always assume it’s the past. It should be over with.” He winces. “How much did I drink last night?”

 

                “I don’t know. It was all before you came here.” She sits down across from him. “You know, it’s not like you’d be the first person to still have issues about the past, especially when… it must have been so hard-”

 

                “Erica.” There’s a definite warning in his voice. “I’ve told you. It doesn’t mean I want to talk about it.”

 

                “I get it. I guess I can’t be your fill-in therapist either.” She grabs his hand. “But if you ever want to talk.”

 

                He looks at their joined hands. “Hey, our first official book signing is scheduled in two weeks,” she says to break the awkward silence. “I really want you to be there.”

 

                “I wouldn’t miss it,” he promises. It’s heavy, knowing about what he’s gone through, knowing more about him in general. Erica didn’t realize how heavy it would be.

 

                She can still remember last night, letting him rest his head in her lap as he went to sleep. The pain that had been in his voice as he’d talked about the family he used to have, a pain that still sounded fresh though it had to have been years.

 

                When he’d fallen asleep enough for her to slip out from under him, she’d put a pillow under his head and covered him with a blanket she had in her closet. All she knew, at that moment, was she wanted to be whatever he needed her to be, whenever he needed it, whether it be friend or therapist.

 

                But now, in the light of morning, she can’t manage to find the words to tell him that. So she’s relieved when he asks, “Would you mind fixing me a couple of slices of toast?”

 

                Because she can smile and say, “Sure.” And they can both forget how vulnerable it feels just to look at each other.

 

\---

 

                “I just don’t feel like talking to Ethan right now,” she tells him on the phone. So he meets her at their bar, buys her a beer and lets her cry for three hours straight, telling him about how _The None_ flopped and she lost her job.

 

                He doesn’t have answers, but he does take her hand, forces her to get up from the bar stool, and he puts a cue stick in her hand. He picks up another one. “Forget that in the last game, you called the wrong pocket,” he tells her, setting up the balls in the middle. He sets the cue ball in place and motions for her to stand in front of it. “The table’s always there, the balls can always be put back into position… all you have to do is break and start over, knowing you might lose this game. You might even lose the next one, but the point is you play, Erica.”

 

                She looks up at him, tears staining her cheeks, and the cue stick limp in her hands. She looks at the table, lifts the cue slowly, and she leans down.

 

                The crack as the balls break apart is satisfying. He stands watching her, and she gives him a smile because she can feel that spark of hope starting to come back. “In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.”

 

                “Albert Einstein,” she finishes, though she’s not quite sure why she remembers that.

 

                “So where’s the opportunity in this for you, Erica?” he asks her.

 

                It isn’t until she’s home, late enough that Ethan is asleep, when she finds the manuscript lying on her desk, that she realizes the answer to that question.

 

\---

 

                He’s helping her clean up a party she threw at her apartment. “That really turned out great,” she tells him. “And you know, I think Julianne likes what she’s read of my book so far.”

 

                “That’s great,” he says, reaching over her to put a glass in the sink. She turns to reach around him for a plate that was left on the counter.

 

                Erica feels that odd, fluttering feeling in her stomach she’s been feeling lately when she’s around him. She laughs, because she’s not quite sure what to do with it.

 

                He mistakes her laughter for amusement at the way they’re getting into each other’s way. “I’ll go pick up the living room. Get out of your way.”

 

                Erica hesitates, but she ends up nodding, watching him leave to go to the other room. She’s been building up a store of memories she had of Ethan, before, and she plays those in her head now to remind herself why this would be a bad idea.

 

                And just because he’s a great friend doesn’t mean he’s anything more. “You know, I would have never thought to fix that cheese with that wine,” she calls to him. “Where’d you learn so much about food?”

 

                “It’s just something I picked up. A hobby, you could say.” She can just barely see him. “I could cook for you some time if you’d like.”

 

                “That would be nice,” she says. When the last glass is in the dishwasher, she dries her hands and goes to join him in the living room.

 

                He’s tying up a trash bag. “Let me just put this away.”

 

                Erica nods. She sits down and puts her face in her hands. Why can’t she just have good friends? Why does she have to feel like this now? She has everything she ever wanted. Why then does she have to deal with this nagging voice in the back of her head that tells her that something’s missing?

 

                When he comes back into view, she realizes it’s not something that’s missing. Just something she wants. But she’s wanted a lot of things that were bad ideas before, Kai being a case in point. And she got over that.

 

                He sits beside her. “So when do I get to read this book of yours?”

 

                “I just… I want you to like it, so I’m… sort of afraid to show it to you.” She gives him a sheepish smile. “You’ll see it soon, I promise.”

 

                “Good.”

 

                She puts her feet up on the coffee table, because they hurt from standing in her heels all night.

 

                “Here, let me.” He motions for her to set her foot on his leg, and he undoes the strap of her shoe. Erica feels herself holding her breath. She takes careful, slow breaths as his fingers brush her ankle.

 

                She takes her foot back quickly. “Sorry, that wine suddenly hit me.” She doesn’t stop to see if he reacts, just makes it to the bathroom and leans against the shut door.

 

                Erica takes a moment before she splashes her face with water, takes a deep breath. It doesn’t help quiet the growing suspicion that no matter what she does, at some point, she’s not going to be able to pretend like they can stay just friends.

 

                Looking in the mirror, she can’t even convince herself that she’s satisfied with it now.

 

\---

  
                “Well, maybe you should go for it,” Judith tells her. They are sitting having drinks, and Erica has just spilled her current dilemma.

 

                Erica gives her a less than thankful look. “I can’t picture my life without him, Jude. I mean, if I mess this up, and I will mess it up-”

 

                Judith holds up her hand “You know what, stop right there. You’re not giving yourself enough credit. And you said yourself that it’s getting too hard to pretend like everything is normal between you two.”

 

                “Yeah.” Erica pushes her hair back with her fingers. “But maybe I’ll get over it. Maybe it’s a phase.”

 

                “Or maybe this is it for you, Erica.” She sighs. “I’ve seen the way you look at him, the way he looks at you. The only way to find out is to take the risk.”

 

                “I just, I can’t make it seem worth that much risk. Not that much. Losing him would be… losing Ethan was hard, but losing Tom would be like literally walking around with half of myself ripped out.” She shakes her head. “And I know how that sounds. So much for feminism.”

 

                “You’re in love,” Judith tells her. “Give yourself a break. You know as well as I do that you don’t buy that half of yourself stuff. It’s just the way it feels right now.”

 

                Erica wonders why Judith always has to be so right. “Am I?” she asks. “In love with him?” She knows the answer, even without the look Judith gives her. “God.  I’m in love with him.”

 

                Judith nods. “I’m afraid so.”

 

\---

 

                She stabs a piece of cake. “I don’t know. I don’t want to ruin the friendship, and he still wants to work things out with Claire…”

 

                Tom watches her from across the table. There’s slush across the tile floor of the coffee house, and she’s starting to feel too hot wrapped in her scarf and with her hat on. She takes it off, not caring how bad her hair is going to look, and sets it on the table.

 

                She looks up at him. “So what’s the quote for this one?”

 

                He’s leaned back, almost examining her like a therapist or a security guard or something. He shrugs, a small movement of his shoulder. “Maybe there’s no quote.”

 

                She laughs, poking the fork in his direction. “You always have a quote. You’re just not telling me.”

 

                “The course of true love never did run smooth,” he says.

 

                “Shakespeare.” She nods. “Nice.” Erica hesitates. “Would you risk it? I mean, he’s my best friend. Is it worth losing that?”

 

                “Erica,” he leans forward, hands clasped together and resting on the table. “What do you think constitutes the line between friendship and a relationship?”

 

                “Sex.” She takes another bite of cake thoughtfully. “Partial ownership.”

 

                She can’t tell what’s behind that amused twinkle in his eyes. “The second one makes it sound like some sort of slavery or bondage. You might as well be talking about a pimp.”

 

                “And the first?” she asks.

 

                “What about a one-night stand?” he asked. “What about two people who don’t want anything more than to find solace in each other… physically? Are either of those relationships?”

 

                “Well, they’re not friendship,” she protests. “And they are a type of relationship, and it excludes friendship.”

 

                “And who are you to judge what anyone deems to be friendship or not?”

 

                The question hangs between them for a moment. Erica regards it reluctantly. “Okay, so there could be friends who have comfort sex. I don’t think it’s going to be me and Ethan.”

 

                “So what’s that line for you and Ethan?”

 

                She looks at him. “I take it sex is not the right answer.”

 

                “There are no right answers.” He sits up straight. “Therapy is over now. I need to get back to work.”

 

                “If this is what you call therapy, then there are a lot of girl-girl friendships that are pretty much therapy,” she tells him.

 

                He just laughs to himself and waves her off. Erica regards his back and then takes the last bite of her cake.

 

                “Intimacy,” she answers, the next time she sees him. “Friends, you can make them go away when you want to be alone, and they’ll be there for you when you need them, but even when they know everything about you, it’s not the same as what you have to share to be in a relationship.” She takes his arm as they walk. “The thing is, I can’t imagine him not being there when I need him. It’s a lot like you, in a way. I’m kind of getting used to you being there.”

 

                “I suppose I should be flattered.” He pats her arm. “But I can’t give you an answer about Ethan.”

 

                She sighs. “I know.”

 

\---

 

                Now it’s been a long time since Ethan, but she’s still thinking about that same line between friendship and more than friendship as she gets dressed. The lace underwear, she’ll admit, are uncomfortable, and she wishes that her thighs were more toned than they are. She cups her breasts as she looks in the mirror. At least the bra doesn’t look too bad.

 

                Maybe people stumble over that line, Erica thinks as she slips the red dress up her body. She zips it in the back, pulls her hair from the neckline. Her heels are high, the kind of heels she has stumbled in before. Her lipstick is red. Her earrings sparkle. Her hair is nicely put up, though it took two hours and calling Judith to get that to happen. The dress reaches down far enough she doesn’t look cheap, though she might if fishnet stalking were involved. Unless there were garters, and then she might look a bit like a pin-up model.

 

                She puts a hand on her stomach, trying to push down the urge to vomit. It’s about this point that Jenny pokes her head in. “We’re all wondering where you are.” She looks Erica over. “Wow, you know, I didn’t realize you were so hot. Who’s the dress for?”

 

                Erica shushes her before waving her in, and Jenny steps in and shuts the door. “Do I really look like I’m wearing this for someone?”

 

                 “Erica, don’t take this the wrong way, but if you’re wearing that for yourself, then you need to get laid.” Jenny sits on the bed. “Because either way you look at it, you look like something’s going down tonight, battery-operated or not.”

 

                She can feel her cheeks turning red. “Jenny!”

 

                “I’m just saying.” She gives Erica an overly cheerful smile. “So you’re really not going to tell me who it is?”

 

                “There isn’t anyone,” Erica protests. She looks around, as if she could tell if it was loud enough for anyone to hear. “Maybe I just want to look a certain way because it’s my birthday.”

 

                “Erica,” Jenny says in a hushed voice, like she’s imparting one of the universe’s grandest secrets. “People get laid on their birthdays.” She hops back to her feet and grabs Erica’s hand. “Come on. I’m dragging you to your party before you think about this too much and change.”

 

                Erica tries to resist and ends up stumbling out of her room in front of a crowd of people. “Hello, everyone. Glad you could make it.”

 

                She’s automatically surrounded by Judith, Julianne, Sam, and Jenny anyhow, which gives her time to compose herself.

 

                “Who are you wearing that for?” Sam whispers to her.

 

                “It’s my birthday. I don’t have to answer these kinds of questions anymore,” she says, causing Sam to give her a look like she’s lost her mind.

 

                Maybe she has, Erica doesn’t know; she just knows that there’s champagne in the kitchen.

 

                “So I know it’s your birthday and all,” Julianne says, coming up behind her. “But when do I get to see the final chapters, Erica?”

 

                Has it really been that long since she started writing this book? Is she really almost finished? Erica realizes she’s probably looking at Julianne like a scared horse. “Soon, you know, really soon.” She downs her glass of champagne.

 

                She feels guilty now for the weeks of semi-avoiding Tom and the sudden excuses as to why she can’t make coffee. Burying herself in writing this book, along with editing, it seemed like a good idea, but now she wonders how he really took it.

 

                “Is Tom here?” she asks Julianne.

 

                “Don’t think so yet.” Her eyes narrow at Erica, ever so slightly. There’s something she’s about to add, but she doesn’t. Instead she refills Erica’s glass. “I’m sure he’ll show,” is all she says before she walks away.

 

                Erica leans against the counter as she finishes her second glass. Feelings screw everything up, she thinks. If she’d just stayed friends with Ethan, or if she’d just, she doesn’t know, paid enough attention to know that they weren’t right for each other, then…

 

                Then what? It’s not like she can undo her past regrets. The thing with Ethan, it just happened, and this thing with Tom, maybe she’s screwed it up now, but no amount of crying is going to change either of those things.

 

                Despite knowing this, Erica is pretty sure she’s just ruined her mascara. She tries to wipe it off with a towel, gives up, and starts on her third glass of champagne.

 

                Then he walks through the door, and everything she knows she’d be risking, their friendship chief among them, it’s still important, but she remembers why taking the risk might be important too.

 

\---

 

                She’d stepped into his office, taking in the decorations, the dim lighting, and the chairs. She’s only known about his occupation for a few days, so it all feels very impressive. “So this is where it happens?” she’d asked. “This is where people come to be fixed? Talk about their problems?”

 

                “There’s no fixing of anyone,” he says, a quiet admonishment. “But there is a significant amount of talking.” He’s standing, watching her every movement. She notices it, like she always notices it, but she doesn’t say anything.

 

                Erica sits down on a chair, lets herself kind of melt against it. “So is this where they sit?” she asks. “Your clients?”

 

                “Or over there,” he points to another piece of furniture. “Or they stand.”

 

                “So what would you say to me, if I were here for a session?” she asks, smiling brightly, waving a finger at him when he shakes his head, just once. “You’re always accusing me of treating you like my therapist, so play with me a little here.”

 

                He watches her reluctantly, but then he sits down behind the desk. “Okay, Erica, what brings you here?”

 

                “I’m a mess,” she says, laughing.

 

                “You’re being a really cheerful mess,” he tells her. “Just say something, anything. I can’t role-play this properly with you acting like a two year old who’s just raided the candy shop.”

 

                She tries to compose herself. “I don’t know what to say.”

 

                “Well tell me, do you have any regrets?” he asks.

 

                “A ton,” she answers. “I have a ton of fears, too. Probably…” she sighs, “too many to list.”

 

                “Just tell me about one then,” he prompts, and suddenly being in this chair makes her feel oddly exposed.

 

                “All right.” Erica hesitates, and then she knows what to say. Except it brings with it a flood of things she doesn’t want to think about, not really. Her voice is shaky and quiet as she says, “I’ve never told you about my brother, have I?”

 

                “Erica,” he gets up, comes over to kneel down by her. “You don’t have to do this. It’s not really therapy, remember?”

 

                She lets him hug her. “I can still remember how it felt, you know? All of the anger and the regret, and everyone blaming each other.” She’s crying now. “And I still ask myself sometimes why I couldn’t just have stopped it? Why I couldn’t have done something…” Her throat gets too tight to speak, and she realizes she’s gripping onto him like he’s her buoy, and she’s drowning in the ocean. “I’m glad you’re not my therapist,” she whispers, because she’s just realized the difference, and it’s in the way she can just let him hold her for awhile. The way they can leave this behind and go for coffee.

 

                Erica wipes her eyes as he sits back so that he can look at her. He strokes her hair away from her face, as if he’s thinking about some terrible loss. “As much as I want you to talk to me about things,” he tells her, as if each word is something he has to think about carefully, “being a friend and being a therapist are too very different things with two very different sets of boundaries.”

 

                “So when you’ve said those things before…” she searches his eyes for something. “You’re trying to keep me on the other side of that line. That line,” her eyes focus on the desk. “You have to keep with your patients?”

 

                “But I don’t have that line with you, Erica,” he tells her.

 

                “What does that mean?” she asks. “I mean, I know there’s a difference, but what’s the difference between what we do and what happens here? I mean, you know so many of my secrets.”

 

                He looks at the room, as if it holds the answers. “Choice,” he says finally. “Equality. Mutuality. Distance.” He turns towards her. “We don’t have a contract. I don’t have a duty to you. What I do out of friendship is one thing, but what I do here… it can’t be about me or my feelings.”

 

                She stands up and takes his hand, because she can tell he’s getting stuck in some thought he’s having. “Come on. We’ll have drinks.”

 

                He nods, but he hesitates when they get to the door. “Does it make me selfish if I wish I knew those parts of you?” he asks. “Even if it would mean giving up our friendship?”

 

                “Maybe you can still have them,” she says, but the thought scares her just a little. She realizes what she’s saying is not something friends say, but she continues anyway. “But not like this, Tom.”

 

                The way he nods, the tight feeling in the pit of her stomach, both of these things tell Erica she’s crossed all kinds of lines just by coming here.

 

\---

 

                She hasn’t worked up the nerve to talk to him, and he’s avoided her. She’s already opened her gifts and a lot of people have left when he finally walks over, slips something out of his pocket. “This is for you.”

 

                It’s just a bookmark, with a quote on it. “That’s my favorite quote, incidentally,” he tells her.

 

                “You told me this when I had just gotten fired… you know that conversation is one of the reasons I had the courage to start this company.” She fingers the letters.

 

                “And look what you’ve accomplished, Erica.”

 

                She swallows. “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. I… stay. We’ll talk later.” She grabs his hand and squeezes it, as if making a promise, before she goes to see Judith off.

 

                Julianne is the last one to leave. She kisses both of Erica’s cheeks. “Looking forward to those chapters soon,” she tells her.

 

                Erica just nods. When the door is closed, she looks at the mess that’s her apartment and decides not to bother about it tonight.

 

                “Want to join me in the kitchen?” she asks. “I think I’m just going to finish off the rest of this cake.”

 

                He gets up from the spot he’s been occupying on her couch. She takes out two forks and offers him one. He takes it. “Did you get to have any?” she asks him.

 

                He shakes his head. “I got here too late.”

 

                She has a forkful in her mouth. “Why was that?” When she realizes he doesn’t want to answer, she breaks off another piece of cake with her fork. “Here, try it, then.”

 

                With a little reluctance, he opens his mouth for her. “It’s good, right?” she asks as he’s swallowing.

 

                “For a cake,” he answers.

 

                “You’re not much of a cake fan, are you?” It occurs to her she’s never seen him order a slice.

 

                “No, not in general.” He tilts his head as he considers it. “I don’t mind a slice of chiffon cake from time to time.”

 

                Erica doesn’t think she’s ever had that. “You’ll have to buy me a slice sometime.”

 

                “There’s not really a place around here…” The distracted sound of his voice makes Erica suddenly self-conscious about licking the frosting from her fork. His expression sobers. “So let’s talk about the way you’ve been avoiding me.”

 

                She’s dipped her finger into the frosting, diverting her attention away from his question. “Isn’t that the way you’d ask if this was therapy?”

 

                He grabs her wrist, the frosting halfway to her mouth, and she’s afraid they’re going to have this fight again. Instead he lifts her hand, gently sucks her finger into his mouth. Erica just opens her mouth as she watches him. “How could I stand being your therapist, Erica Strange,” he asks her, some low, rough quality to his voice as he kisses the tip of her finger, the side of her thumb, her wrist, “when I’m barely able to tolerate being your friend?”

 

                She licks her lips and swallows. “Then don’t be,” she tells him. She grabs his hand, kisses his palm. “Then don’t be.”

 

                She finds herself backed against the counter, his hand cupping the base of her neck. She parts her lips just before their mouths meet. She can taste the frosting on his tongue, the alcohol even lighter than that as she runs her tongue over his lower lip.

 

                It’s rougher than she imagined, but she doesn’t mind, not even when his fingers tangle in her hair to pull her head closer. Her fingers do the same, and all she can think is that she wants more. Her mouth opens wider, and she runs her tongue against the tip of his as his body presses the edge of the counter sharply into her back.

 

                She finds herself on the counter, plastic plates and cups getting shoved to the side and cake smearing the side of her dress.  His hands slide her skirt up her thighs, and she uses the freedom to wrap her legs around his waist. She closes her eyes, her head tipping back as he kisses down her jaw, finding the hollows of her throat with his mouth, the places where her pulse is beating just beneath her skin. Her fingers undo the buttons of his shirt; she’s annoyed to find a shirt under that. She pulls his head back up so that she can kiss him again, scooping up another bit of frosting with her finger and dabbing his lower lip with it so that she can suck it off.

 

                “Erica.” Her name is a prayer or a plea against her mouth.

 

                He manages to lift her and stumble so that she’s against the wall. She laughs when it knocks the breath out of her. It takes her a minute to get her legs down, find her balance, but when she does, her fingers are at those damn buttons again, and she’s rested her mouth just to the side of his ear. There are so many things to say, but what comes out, breathlessly, is, “I wore the dress for you.”

 

                “I appreciate the dress,” he tells her, hands running down her sides. She shivers as he runs his eyes down her body.

 

                She’s the one to move away from the wall enough to reach back and unzip it. She lets the straps fall down her shoulders, trying not to feel self-conscious as the material pools at her feet. She steps away from the material and lifts the dress to toss to him. “You can have it if you appreciate it so much.”

 

                She tries to look cool and confident as she turns to walk to her bedroom. She doesn’t get there before two arms wrap themselves around her, pressing her back against him. “I think there are things I appreciate more than the dress,” he whispers to her. His hand slides across her ribcage, just under the lacy red material of her bra. “Is this what you normally wear?”

 

                She turns her head so that she can look at him. “Do you like it?” she asks with a smile.

 

                “Like would be an understatement,” he assures her, kissing the side of her neck, hands running along the bare skin of her sides.

 

                That she can stop and just take in the moment like this tells her how ready she’s been for this, maybe for longer than she’s realized. She leans her head back against his shoulder. “Take me to bed, Tom.”

 

                He lets her lead him to the bedroom, letting his outer shirt fall to the floor as she sits on the bed to undo her heels. When she’s done, she stands, feeling the carpet under her bare feet as she moves to pull his undershirt over his head.

 

                Their eyes meet as she reaches down, unbuckles his belt, and pulls it free. This time when they kiss, it is slow, and deliberate, each taking the time to explore the other’s mouth. Her fingers reach down to undo his pants, her hand snaking down between layers of material to lightly circle around his erection. It always makes her feel powerful, it did with Ethan, but it especially does now. Ethan wore his emotions on his sleeve, but it’s more pleasing to see Tom struggle to stay composed as he grabs her wrist to keep her hand still. She’s only seen glimpses, when he’s not sober enough to keep them so well hidden. “It’s okay,” she tells him. “Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

 

                He pulls her close, in an awkward embrace. “I’ll tell you later,” he promises against her hair.

 

                She just nods, taking her hand back as she moves to sit on the bed. Erica knows instinctively that letting herself be vulnerable isn’t for her but something she does for him. She trusts him. So she lies back, unhooking her bra, freeing her arms from the straps. He leans down to kiss her collar, his hand moving under the lace, pushing the material to the side so that his fingers ghost over the soft skin of her breast. His thumb circles her nipple before he takes it lightly into his mouth, sending a warm bolt of sensation through her stomach. The fingers of his other hand find their way beneath the lace of her underwear, through the wet that’s gathered between her thighs.

 

                The sensation makes her arch her back slightly, readjusting herself as she swallows. He’s obviously done this before, because it isn’t long before Erica’s gripping the sheets hard enough her knuckles are white as he circles her clit again with his thumb. She wets her mouth, looking at the ceiling as her body reacts without her. Her fingers are grabbing his hair, tightly enough it probably hurts, but she barely registers it. “Tom,” she manages to pant out, and she tugs slightly enough on his head that he moves up her body to kiss her.

 

                She wraps a leg around him, finding enough leverage on one shaky elbow to rock her body against his. Her other arm is wrapped around his shoulder to hold herself up. “If you want this to be over, then keep doing that,” he tells her, his voice rough.

 

                She fights every instinct in her body to stop and reach into her nightstand. She throws a handful of condoms at him. “Just pick one,” she says, when he looks slightly confused. “It was a sort of birthday gift from Jenny,” she explains, covering her face with her hands. “So… just pick one.”

 

                Erica takes the opportunity to slide her underwear off and throw them to the floor. She crosses her arms and looks the other way.

 

                After a moment, she feels his hand on her chin, and he turns her head to face him. “Never, with me,” he tells her, and he doesn’t have to explain what he means.

 

                Just the way he’s looking at her makes her forget the awkwardness of being naked with someone else for the first time. She laughs because his mouth is unevenly coated with a shade of red lipstick. She wipes at the corner of his mouth, and it becomes just a little less red.

 

                Her eyes don’t leave his as he wraps her leg around him, holding the other open as he slips inside her. They find a rhythm together, never breaking eye contact, and Erica wonders if he knows that he has her, stripped bare, and he doesn’t need her in some chair in his office to do it. There are tears running down her cheeks, and she finally gives up watching him to muffle her moans into the skin of his shoulder.

 

                She holds out as long as she can, so that coming is like the first gasp of air after holding her breath for a long time. It doesn’t take long for him to follow, and somehow they find the energy to clean up halfway before they let themselves collapse on the bed, just managing to get themselves under the covers.

 

                She looks over at him, and he cups her face with his hand. She takes his hand and kisses his palm, and it’s her prayer that this is never a regret. And maybe it’s because she’s getting drowsy or because all of her muscles are relaxed and her body is warm, but she has the calm, clear knowledge that even if it doesn’t work, this isn’t something she can regret.

 

\---

 

                She wakes up the next morning, allowing herself a luxurious stretch of her muscles, like a cat. He’s propped up on his elbow watching her. “Don’t look at me like that. I must be a mess,” she tells him, but the effect is ruined by a yawn.

 

                Erica stretches up to kiss him. This, she thinks, is what being on top of the world is supposed to feel like. All she needs to do is publish her book, and she could die completely content.

 

                They take a shower together, kissing and touching and talking, the latter about nothing in particular. There’s a mutual understanding that the details can be sorted out later.

 

                Erica dresses, puts up her hair, and walks in to see the puddle of champagne on her kitchen floor, the bottle just short of having rolled off the table, knives and forks and pieces of cake all mixed together on the counter and soaked with champagne themselves.

 

                He comes up and wraps his arms around her. “Next time less mess.”

 

                Erica nods. “We’ll get it cleaned up though.” She turns around to kiss him again, wondering if she’ll ever get enough of that. She sighs and looks at her watch. “I’ve got to get to a meeting with Julianne.”

 

                “I’ll clean it up,” he promises her, and she gives him a thank you kiss before she finds her bag. She’s already going to have to put makeup on in the car.

 

\---

 

                “So.” This is something like the seventh time they’ve met at the coffee shop. “I guess we’re kind of like friends now.”

 

                “I suppose we are.” He always puts down his paper for her. “Or else I wouldn’t have already ordered your coffee for you.”

 

                She notices it there on the table and gives him a wide smile. “You know, I’ve been promoted to junior editor now.”

 

                “I’m proud of you,” he tells her. “I told you that you didn’t have to settle.”

 

                “I suppose I do owe some of my success to you.” She laughs. “Okay, maybe even a lot of it.”

 

                “Success means having the courage, the determination, and the will to become the person you believe you were meant to be. George Sheehan.” He looks her over. “Do you feel more like that person, Erica?”

 

                “You know, I’m getting there.” She takes a drink of her coffee. “You inspire me. Did you know that?”

 

                “Then you find the oddest sources of inspiration.” He pauses. “But I’m flattered all the same.”

 

\---

 

                 “I think that went well. Glad to see you so alert even the morning after your birthday. That’s very dependable of you,” Julianne says to her after another meeting with more financial backers. She turns to Erica. “So are you going to dish about last night?”

 

                “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Erica says, watching the numbers on the elevator light up, knowing that it won’t save her from this conversation.

 

                “It’s written all over your face, Erica.” Julianne traces an imaginary circle around her face with her finger.

 

                Erica starts into the elevator. “I really don’t think it’s that-” She stops, because she’s not in an elevator, she’s in a hall full of doors.

 

                She can see to the left that he’s just stepped out of his own door. At first there’s just the faintest hint of déjà vu, and then slowly pieces of information filter in, like a cloth being slowly drawn off a painting. Except the full truth, when she finally has it, is sudden and hard and heavy. Because when she remembers everything, can see from the look in his eyes that he does too, and she knows, she _knows_, without him saying a word what it means. That whatever lines they might have crossed before she stepped through the door that’s closed quietly behind her, here he has a line. It’s a line he won’t cross, doesn’t even believe in crossing, and she belongs firmly on the other side of it.

 

                “Please,” she says, and it hurts so much she closes her eyes for a moment, unable to remember how to breathe. “Please, we can talk about it.”

 

                She thinks the look on his face is pity, maybe mixed with regret. For all she knows he’s crying, it’s too hard to tell when she can’t get her vision clear enough. She finally gives up and closes her eyes.

 

                When she hears the sound of the door shutting, she lets go of the rest of whatever self-respect and pride she had left and falls to her knees, her hand covering her mouth. It seems like forever before there’s a hand on her shoulder, and she looks up to see Dr. Fred looking down at her. “Come on, Erica. It’s time to get up.”

 

                It doesn’t feel like there’s anything left in her, but she nods and lets him help her to her feet. “Can I have a few days before I process this?” she asks him.

 

                “Sure.” He puts a hand on her shoulder. “You all right?”

 

                Erica nods. “I’m going to be.” And though she doesn’t know how or why, she knows that she means it.

 

 

III.

 

                Even though she could walk through her front door straight into the where she’s meeting Julianne, every day Erica chooses to walk the streets of Toronto, feeling the overly cold wind on her face, using the time her body is moving to give herself time to think.

 

                A familiar figure steps in line beside her, and she can’t help but smile. “Do I always need so much checking up on?” she asks.

 

                Dr. Fred shakes his head. “You’re doing really well, Erica.”

 

                “Then?” she asks. “Hey, do you mind if we stop for coffee? It’s my turn to bring it today, and Julianne… she’s not the prettiest person to be around without coffee.”

 

                He laughs. “All right, sure.”

 

                Erica goes to Goblins. It’s kind of her stubborn refusal to stop. Her way of saying she’d rather remember Kai. She’s gotten good at the practice of remembering.

 

                Dr. Fred, who is still very much present in her life, waits behind her as she orders. “Actually, Naadiah wants to see you.”

 

                Erica frowns, absently paying the barista as she turns her attention to Dr. Fred. “Dr. Naadiah? Why?  She usually only wants to see me when it’s about…” Her eyes get wider. “Are they giving me a patient?” There’s a rush of excitement that comes with the idea. She thinks she might have even bounced on her feet a little.

 

                “Slow down, Erica,” he tells her, but his smile belies his serious tone. “But yes, we think we might have found someone.”

 

                She leaves the coffee to throw her arms around him. Dr. Fred puts an arm around her shoulder and pats her. His line with her is more porous, and sometimes she wonders if he trusts her not to cross it. Erica would imagine that instinct is pretty much spot on, but another part of her is pretty sure it’s just the way Dr. Fred is.

 

                “Does she mind if I have this meeting first?” Erica asks. “I mean, I stayed up all night so that we could try to get this book out on time. I need to keep my focus for just another few hours.”

 

                “I’ll tell her to leave the door open for when you’re ready,” he tells her. That was the first rule he laid out for her, never enter another therapist’s office without their permission. Erica nods.

 

                She sighs. “Do you really think I’m ready?”

 

                “I think you’ve been ready for a while.” He helps her carry the coffee, not missing that she’s bought one for him. He tries a sip, finds it too hot. “Just don’t forget you’re not the only one that has to be ready.”

 

                Erica’s really quiet for a moment, and Dr. Fred says, very gently, “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

 

                “Sometimes it feels like it’s rarer for me not to.” She shrugs. “I just… there was a time when I thought he’d be here for this.”

 

                “You’re not still waiting for him?”

 

                Erica shakes her head. Just thinking about it brings back what might have been the hardest months of her life. It hadn’t helped that it was like she was experiencing the loss of Ethan and Tom at the same time, each equally fresh. There are still moments, but closed doors… they are what they are, and watching them, expecting them to be different, waiting for one to open… it doesn’t work like that.

 

                He walks with her to the building. “Walking becomes a luxury once it’s not necessary,” he comments as he hands Julianne’s coffee over to her.

 

                “You know, it really does.” Erica takes a moment to look at the path behind her. She can’t help making another excited sound and half hugging him before she heads inside the building.

 

\---

 

                Empty answering machines are the worst, because after dinners with groups of people where Ethan is there Erica can entertain this fantasy that he’ll magically call. She doesn’t want to be with him, but she misses being around him.

 

                Judith told her he’s thinking about moving, and all Erica did was nod. She knows personally why it seems so tempting to leave haunted places behind.

 

                Her fingers still trace surfaces, as if pieces of everyone are there with her in that apartment. Dr. Fred once told her that it wasn’t the furniture or the toothbrush you find in the medicine cabinet weeks later that held the memories. Still, it just takes finding one of Ethan’s cufflinks on the floor to take her back.

 

                She shrugs off her coat, still remembering the cordial but stiff way Ethan had finally greeted her. She reaches down to take off her heels, leaving them where they are on the floor. She sorts through her mail, separates out bills from the junk and leaves the invitation to Judith’s son’s birthday party to the side. Already her mind is sorting through the most fun gifts to get, the ones Judith would least appreciate.

 

                Neither Ethan nor Tom had been very impractical. She wonders if it would have mattered… if she’d been more practical, but she just sighs. That future with Ethan felt like a cage, and there wouldn’t have been a future with Tom either way, so nothing would have changed. Not really.

 

                Erica allows herself to fall back on the bed, hands resting on her stomach as she tries to gather up the strength to go through those three chapters another time. She does reach up enough to get the Chinese take-out menu and the phone, staring at the options for awhile before calling and placing an order.

 

                When she answers the door, it amazes her, as it often does now, that doors can open to perfectly normal places with no effort on her part. She doesn’t have to think hallway, just turn the knob and pull.

 

                She eats while she works, listening to some music to make the apartment feel more alive. The words are good, but there’s something that could be better thematically. It takes all of her focus to trace that out, to put things together so that it peeks through between the letters.

 

                Finished, she saves, gets up to put the rest of the carton in the fridge. She changes into her pajamas, brushes her teeth, her bleary eyes watching her look bleary eyed.

 

                Erica pulls down the covers, rests her head against the pillow, and like she does on the particularly hard nights, she stops holding it together and cries until there’s nothing left in her but sleep.

 

\---

 

                “You look well, Erica,” Dr. Naadiah says as she steps through the door.

 

                “Dr. Fred said you wanted to see me?”

 

                “Yes, take a seat.” Erica does as she’s told. “I suppose you figured out we’re ready to give you your first shot.” Dr. Naadiah has a pad in front of her. “Do you feel ready?”

 

                “I think so,” Erica tells her, trying her best to see what’s being scribbled on the pad. “Dr. Fred said the two of you have talked about it.”

 

                “We have,” Dr. Naadiah agrees. “We’re not the only two people making this decision, Erica, so I’m going to need to ask you a few questions so that I can clarify a few things for a few people.”

 

                “All right…” Erica sits back. “Ask what you need to then.”

 

                Dr. Naadiah gives her a half-apologetic look, but it’s gone before Erica has time to even register it properly. “Erica,” she puts her pen down to look up. “Tell me about Dr. Tom.”

 

                “Oh, wow,” she swallows. “Is that what this is about?”

 

                “What… happened, there are many of us who see it as a serious breach of ethics, and… they’re worried about your ability to maintain proper boundaries with any patients you might have.”

 

                “It was one mistake,” Erica protests.

 

                “Then tell me about it.” Her voice is purposefully clinical, and Erica realizes that arguing with Dr. Naadiah is just a version of shooting the messenger.

 

                “Dr. Tom and I…” She frowns. “He, of course, never violated his ethical conduct. From what I understand, as a patient, my reaction was to be regarded as nothing more than a case of transference.”

 

                “Do you feel that it was… a case of transference?”

 

                There’s a right and wrong answer here, she can tell, but she decides to just be honest. “That’s not the way I feel about it, no.”

 

\---

 

                “I didn’t know,” Dr. Fred promises her.

 

                “I felt like I was on trial.” He’s letting lay on the grass today, and she enjoys being in the grass just staring up at the clouds. He’s being indulgent, especially considering she just burst into his office, which was the cardinal rule he gave her about therapist-therapist boundaries. She closes her eyes and puts her arm over them. Maybe she isn’t meant for this. Maybe therapists are only people who buy practical baby gifts and don’t fall in love with their best friends and don’t have nights where they cry themselves to sleep.

 

                “That’s kind of what it was.” Dr. Fred sits on the grass next to her, his legs crossed. “Tell me what’s going through your mind.”

 

                “Maybe I’m wrong for this,” she tells him. “I mean, maybe they are right. I have no regard for rules, and I don’t want to mess some poor person up more than they already are…”

 

                “Let me ask you a couple of questions, Erica. You know me, you know Dr. Naadiah, you know yourself of course, and you knew Dr. Tom. We were all in the spot where your first client is going to be. Is ‘some poor messed up person’ really the way you’d want to think of them?”

 

                She looks up at him. “I was a mess.”

 

                “You were human, just like you’re still human, just like I’m still human.” Dr. Fred shows her his palm. “There’s nothing magical about what we are.”

 

                Erica thinks about Sarah, and the look on Tom’s face that day. She sighs, sitting up so she can pay better attention. “Point taken. What’s the second question?”

 

                “I’m going to tell you something, and it might sound harsh, but if you expect to never make mistakes, if you expect to be perfect, then you need to walk out of that door and forget about this whole thing.” He’s actually pointing at the door, and his expression is deadpan. “I’m going to tell you something else. There are many people who would consider the choices that Dr. Naadiah and Dr. Tom made in regards to you as harmful conduct.” When she opens her mouth to protest, he gives her a look that stops her. “There are people who told me that I should have known better with Kai, that he wasn’t ready to go back to his past, and that I should have waited… And I see you wanting to ask about him but don’t.”

 

                She tries not to feel guilty as she leans back against her hands. “Sorry.”

 

                “The point is, Erica, I don’t look at you and see someone who’s messed up. I see someone who is making the best out of a hard situation every day, _every single day_, and that’s who we all are. You weren’t so breakable, and whoever sits in that chair across from you won’t be that breakable, and you’ll give them what you can and hope that it’s enough.” He stops, gives her time to digest what he just said.

 

                “Will you be there to help me?” she asks. “Considering that they still let me do this?”

 

                He nods, just once. “Absolutely.”

 

                Erica looks at the spine of some book Dr. Fred has laying on his desk. “What he gave me. It was enough.”

 

                Dr. Fred gets up from the floor. “I know. I see it every day.” He sits in his main chair, gives her a look. “Now if you don’t mind leaving, I do have a schedule, Erica.”

 

                “Sorry,” she says, stepping out of the door, but instead of going to her apartment she finds herself in her own office.

 

                For a while she just sits in the high-backed chair, letting her thoughts come and go, each one closing and opening a door in her mind. That’s what it’s like, she decides, going through a door with a destination in mind, knowing there are places they can and can’t take her.

 

                She spends the rest of the night bringing in things from her apartment, copies of several books, the pen that Ethan gave her, and she makes a list with it of things she’ll bring later. She puts each book on the shelf, adding them to the others already there, and it’s her way of being optimistic, because she refuses to believe that she’s been lead this far to fail now. And she’s not going to fail any of them, not Dr. Naadiah, not Dr. Fred, and especially not Dr. Tom.

 

\---

 

                She puts the glass down and allows her head to fall back again. “Fine,” she says, looking over so that he can see her face when she says it. “I don’t regret it.”

 

                “But you wish you did?”

 

                The chair is suddenly a vulnerable spot to be, but she nods anyways. “Sometimes, yeah…” She finds herself looking at the sky, unable to stop the nostalgia and frustration and sadness from slipping into her voice. She has to close her eyes, take a deep breath. “Sometimes I wish I did.”

 

                They both look at the door. He nods his head towards it. “You’ve had his permission for awhile.”

 

                “Maybe doors are supposed to stay shut for a reason,” she tells him.

 

                “Like Leo?” he asks.

 

                “Exactly like Leo,” she agrees.

 

                “It didn’t stop you from reopening that door. From going back to see him,” Dr. Fred points out.

 

                “But he stayed dead. That door stayed shut in the end.” She runs her fingers through her hair, wondering when she became so bad about that particular habit. “There are lines that can’t be uncrossed, and there are doors that can’t be reopened.”

 

                “It’s been hard for you to learn that.” It’s not a question.

 

                She nods. “I’ve accepted that that part of my past is over, and I’ve moved on, and what if…” She laughs, but it’s more to release tension than anything. “I don’t want to go back there.” She gives him a pleading look, and he hands her a tissue to wipe the tears suddenly falling down from her eyes. “It still, even now… I remember the last time I saw him, and…”

 

                Dr. Fred comes over to crouch down in front of her. He puts one of his hands on hers. “Erica, it’s not a matter of doors being closed. It’s a matter of you not wanting to open them.”

 

                She looks at the door. It could take her home to a warm bath and a bottle of wine she has in the fridge. It could take her to Julianne’s, and they could have one of those awful nights of watching _Sleepless in Seattle_ that she somehow lets herself get talked into these days. “I feel like I should be strong enough to do this.”

 

                “You don’t have to be strong. You don’t even have to do this,” he tells her. “I’m going to be blunt with you, Erica, because I know you can handle it. Either what’s through that door is worth the risk, or…” He shrugs. “It’s not. But I think you’re ready to make the choice.”

 

                They’ve given her a name, the name of her first patient. Erica takes a deep breath in through her nose, lets it out slowly through her mouth. “Why now?” she asks.

 

                “Because you’re about to open a really big door,” he says. “It’s time for you to decide what to do with this one.”

 

                She remembers a moment in another lifetime when she had to ask herself a very similar question. “He could really hurt me, without even trying.”

 

                “The difference between friendship and love is how much you can hurt each other,” he says.

 

                “That’s a quote,” she says.

 

                “It is.”

 

                “Sometimes it’s like you can read my mind,” she tells him. “That’s exactly like… something I asked someone a long time ago. Except I don’t think that was my answer.”

 

                She looks at the door. Every second of her fingers tracing out the ghosts in her apartment, every second of looking at doors, wishing she could do what she has the opportunity to do now, all of that crosses her mind. What does it mean if you let someone take everything and get up and go back, knowing they could take more?

 

                Erica gets to her feet. “So where are you going?” Dr. Fred asks her.

 

                She can’t look back at him, sure that if she lets her feet stop, she’ll never find the courage for this again. Her hand shakes as she reaches towards the knob.

 

                “Erica,” Dr. Fred says.

 

                She looks back at him, and he gives her a smile. “Good luck with the leap.”

 

                She smiles back, gathering whatever strength she has left to turn the knob and push open the door.

 

                It’s so familiar it brings tears to her eyes. It takes her a minute to feel capable of turning to look at him. Nothing’s changed, not the way she feels, not how it hurts. There’s anger and sense of betrayal that she suddenly feels well up in her throat. Beyond even that is the realization that she loves him as much as she did that moment when she first realized that’s what the name for it was. Her hand is still gripping the knob of the door, but he’s the one that gets up. She lets the knob go as he pushes the door shut behind her.

 

                “Dr. Tom,” she says finally.

 

                “Hello, Erica.”

 

\---

 

                He has sandy blond hair, and his name is Caleb. Erica can see the white bandages around his wrists. The machine beeps beside him. “So they tell me you tried to kill yourself… Caleb White, it is, isn’t it?”

 

                “Bright staff they have around here,” he says, not even bothering to turn to face her. “Are you the shrink they sent in? I’m not going to talk. They’ll just keep me here anyway.”

 

                “I’m a therapist, yes, but they didn’t send me in here to evaluate you.” Erica sits down. “You see, Caleb, you don’t have to talk to me. I know your girlfriend left you, and you think that she, _she _was everything. And you think to yourself all of the time, what does it matter, all you’ve got now is your dead-end job, you’re still living with your parents, and the days… the days blur together anyway, so what’s the point?” She puts her hands on her crossed knees. “Is that warm enough?”

 

                He doesn’t answer, but he is watching her now with a weary suspicion. “We are all faced with a series of great opportunities brilliantly disguised as impossible situations… Charles R. Swindoll said it, I believe. Maybe this is just your impossible situation. When you decide you want to find out, you come find me.” She sets the card on his bedside table. It’s simple, just her name, Dr. Erica, where to find her, and the quote, “In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.” Dr. Fred tells her she’ll get more original as she goes along.

 

                He still isn’t talking, but she figures that’s pretty normal.

 

                When she starts to leave, he does ask, “When are they letting me out of here?”

 

                Erica looks back at him. “I hope soon. Take care, Caleb.” With that, she starts to leave, only looking back once, already feeling that positive regard she sees in the way Dr. Fred looks at her. It’s the same look Dr. Tom once gave her. And she understands now, just how unbroken she looked when he walked into the hospital room that day, no matter how her hair had looked or how puffy her face had been.

 

                Because she recognizes Caleb White, just like Dr. Tom recognized her, and she assumes Dr. Naadiah recognized him before that.

 

                And she sends a prayer, as she walks through the doorway, that she does half as good of a job of teaching him. Because each moment, no matter how difficult, means navigating the opening and closing of doors, and it’s the hardest and most wonderful thing she’s ever had to learn.


End file.
